


After the Maelstrom

by lokilickedme



Series: Tempest [3]
Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Bruises, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loki Does What He Wants, Marking, Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Loki, Painplay, Public Sex, Rough Sex, intentional injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Before Chaos - Loki has had his fun wreaking havoc over New York and is now a guest of S.H.I.E.L.D., awaiting extradition back to Asgard.  He has information Nick Fury could use, but he's not giving it up until they bring him his new favorite plaything...the woman from the elevator.  Third in the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Maelstrom

**Author's Note:**

> For angreav, who loved the previous two stories enough to do the Carlton dance for me ;)

 

 

I sit in my cell - another cell, yet again. I am beginning to see a pattern here, and I'm not sure I care for it. But this time there is no darkness, only bright, searing light that never dims. I am encased in glass like a display, a trophy behind a locked pane. One by one they come in to admire their prize.

The metal man comes without his metal, stripped down to his mortal self; I am once again not impressed with the small, sarcastic human who stands before me, though his resolve seems steely enough. The black widow has visited me multiple times, for what purpose I am not sure. Thor comes often, chastising me as only an arrogant older brother can. The others have come and gone, some only stopping long enough to look at me as if I were an animal in a cage, but of course Fury comes often to mock.

I do not let him under my skin. No mortal human can rankle me, especially this blustering fool. He reminds me of Odin, with his single eye glaring at me with barely contained disdain. I wish the same fate for both of them, to die at my feet, screaming my name.

Speaking of which.

While I await deportation back to Asgard, I find myself burdened with more spare time than I know what to do with. I have been offered various favors in return for information on Thanos and the source of the scepter's power, and though the very idea of helping these pitiful creatures fills me with disgust, my thoughts have begun wandering to a potential favor that could very well be worth my trouble.

I cannot get her out of my mind.

She haunts me, her large soft eyes that looked into my soul and didn't cringe in terror at what they saw there, her sweet body, so nurturing and warm, taking me in without resistance even under threat of pain, her lovely voice that spoke such kind, loving words to me as I took from her what she had not been given opportunity to give willingly. She had crawled inside my soul and curled there, staying with me, stroking me gently, keeping me calm. Without her I would not have followed my gut as the Chitauri devastated New York. I would not have stayed with my plan to betray my former captors. I would not have had the bravery to do so.

My plan is working brilliantly. But I now languish in my glass prison, no longer assaulted from all sides with stimuli, no longer busy with fucking my enemies over. I have nothing to occupy my time, nor my mind. Fury has made the mistake of telling me I can have anything short of freedom in exchange for the information I hold. At first he had nothing I wanted.

Now I've changed my mind.

He returns, and I ask for her.

 

He balks initially, not wanting to sacrifice an innocent to the vile monster he thinks he has defeated. But when I tell him the woman will be easily identifiable by the marks upon her throat, he understands. I have been with this woman already, she is not untouched by my wrath. She has survived me once. This knowledge seems to soothe his conscience, as if she is already sullied by me and therefore not worthy of his concern. He agrees to my request, and my hatred for him grows deeper for his casual willingness to consider her an acceptable loss.

 

Night falls and the floating ship around me grows silent save for the hum of the engines and the low rumble of machinery. No one checks on me; a lone camera follows me as I move about my cell, though I know not who is watching from the other side, nor do I care. I pace, agitated, my nerves taut with anxiety. I trust no one.

Tension threatens to snap the sinew from my bones. Pushed beyond my comfort point, I growl in frustration and whirl upon the camera that is always pointed at me. It follows my movements, as always. I give whoever is watching me a sneer, fair warning that now would be a good time to leave their post in favor of a long walk down the corridor.

There is no bed in my cell, only a hard bench, barely long enough or wide enough for me to lie down on. Obviously this prison was not constructed with comfort in mind. I remove my armored coat and fold it into a makeshift pillow, laying down and shoving it under my head.

Her face comes to me easily once I close my eyes, followed by her body. If I concentrate hard enough I can even smell her, that delicious whiff of dark vanilla mingled with the heady scent of her womanly desire. I can taste her on my tongue, feel her on my skin, hear her heartbeat and her voice, beating so fast, whispering so sweetly. I open my breeches and tug myself free of the restricting leather, aching with need, my cock already weeping in preparation for her. But she is not here. Not yet. I must find my release alone, and though it leaves a bitter emptiness in the pit of my gut, I stroke myself until I come with her name on my lips.

 

I awake in the morning with dried come in my hand and a headache from sleeping on the short bench. A guard comes to escort me to a place where I can clean up, relieve myself, brush my teeth and make myself presentable. I am provided with food and drink and a blanket, and soon Fury makes his appearance, as I knew he would. He asks me if I am in need of anything, and I gesture toward the bench stiffly, my neck still sore from my uncomfortable night.

"A bed would be nice."

He nods. Obviously it had not been his intention to have me in this cell long enough for such luxuries to be necessary. He moves closer to the glass that separates us and gives me that dead eyed stare that I have come to associate with both he and the AllFather.  Odd how I hold them both in the same esteem.

"This woman. If I bring her to you, do I have your word you will not harm her?"

I give him my most reassuring smile, though I do not think he feels very reassured by it.

"Why would I want to harm her? She has only ever been kind to me."

"And do you really believe she'll want to come here?" He gives me a look that implies his thoughts; he thinks I have hurt this woman, bent her to my will so that she will do my bidding out of fear. If he only knew.

_It is I who has bent._

"She will come."

 

And she does. Fury brings her himself, escorting her to my glass cage, leaving her to stand just out of my reach on the other side of the partition, so close that I almost feel the warmth of her body through the unbreakable wall. We are so close that our breath would caress each other's face if the glass were not there. Fury lets us stand like this, silently tortured by our separation, no doubt enjoying being able to prolong the agony as he pretends to make necessary input on the control panel that operates my cell. Eventually I curse him and see a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He will die slower than the rest.

The glass finally slides open and she steps inside without fear or hesitation. It closes behind her, and Fury reminds me of the rules - if I misbehave, I will be restrained. If I harm the woman, she will be removed. If I make any attempt to escape, use her as a hostage, or even do so much as make an obscene gesture at the surveillance camera, the deal will be taken off the table and I will be shipped back home to Asgard to face my fate without S.H.I.E.L.D. intervention. I begrudgingly nod my acceptance of the terms and wait until Fury has finally left the chamber before taking her into my arms.

She is every bit as soft and lovely as I remember her. It has only been a day since we were together last, but my body reacts as if it has been a millennia. The bruises and cuts I bear from my encounters with each of the so-called Avengers - particularly the hulking green brute - mark my skin like I have been claimed, making the similarity between the woman and myself almost laughable. But she does not gloat over the turn of misfortune that has left me in worse shape than her. Instead, she gently touches my injuries with her warm fingertips, soothing my aches with her tender kisses. I do the same for her, stroking my thumb across the angry purple bruises that circle her neck, sliding my hands down to press the coolness of my palms against the red bitemarks that pepper her chest, letting my lips caress her wounds, my tongue tenderly tasting them. I do not touch her arms, for the bruises there need more healing, a skill which has been taken from me temporarily; I find myself regretting having damaged her so, but in all truth I had not expected to care about the suffering of one mortal human.

A small cot has finally been brought to my cell, and though it is a far cry from the luxurious bed we shared in the hotel, we move to it and I urge her to recline while I remove my clothing. She watches me with the same interest she did the previous day, as if my body were something new and wondrous, except this time I am battered and bloodied. I sit on the edge of the cot to remove my boots and feel her behind me, her arms going around my chest, her soft warm breasts pressing into my back, her sweet breath tickling my shoulder. I am tired, worn out both mentally and physically, but I drop my boot to the floor and turn to take her against me, our lips coming together softly at first, till at last passion overtakes us and we fall together back onto the unyielding, uncomfortable cot.

I have no desire to subjugate her this time. Even given her willingness to be dominated by me, I do not wish her the humiliation of others watching. I spread the meager blanket out over us to shield her as much as I can from the intrusion of the camera; if she has noticed it, she has not made mention of its presence. I undress her just enough to satisfy my desire to see and touch her, leaving her clothing on so that at no point does she have to be naked in front of their prying eyes. The top of her dress I pull down, the hem I push up, leaving the garment bunched around her waist. It is not comfortable for either of us, but it will do.

There is none of the dangerous play that we indulged in in the elevator this time. I do not know how long they will let her stay with me, so I do not waste what could be precious minutes with the rough foreplay I am so fond of. It occurs to me that whoever is watching could very well consider the things I do to prepare my bedpartner as violent aggression, resulting in a battalion of armed guards rushing into the cell, led by Fury of course, all too delighted to take away my plaything before I've had the chance to enjoy her. I know he is looking for any excuse to not honor his bargain with me. I do not wish to give him that excuse.

So I kiss her tenderly, stroking her body, whispering against her skin, careful to avoid her bruises as she is careful in return with mine. We touch and caress one another, our words quietly murmured to avoid listening ears that do not belong to us. My fingers itch to spank her luscious bottom, but I refrain, squeezing it instead as I push her panties down over her thighs, listening to her softly moan in response. I can tell she wishes for more, just as I do...our previous encounter has whetted her appetite for depravity, but she understands the need to keep ourselves above reproach while we are on display.

She is wet for me, the simple act of tender kisses and gentle touches awakening the basest of physical responses in her body. I am touched that it takes so little. Her hips are pushing upward against my hand as I stroke her, my fingers urging her toward ecstasy while I speak words into her ear that I am certain she has never heard before. Their meaning is not important, only the uttering of them matters. I lower my head to her chest and use my teeth to tug her lacy bra out of my way, reveling in the sensation of her soft, pliant breasts against my face as they are freed from their constraint. I take one hard, rosy nipple between my lips and flick it with my tongue. She comes, her back arching, pushing up hard against me with a strangled gasp.

I cannot resist a low chuckle against her breast. She is breathing with difficulty, her lungs struggling for air as she slowly comes down from her climax, her skin heated and flushed across her chest and neck. After our time together in the hotel, I know more about her than she knows about herself. She seems surprised and a bit bemused that I can bring her to orgasm so quickly, so effortlessly...and I take great delight in doing so. Though our accommodations are not quite so comfortable as during our previous coupling, we make the best of them.

For hours we are allowed to be together, and we spend every moment of it dragging pleasure from one another's bodies, taking what we want and giving what we need. I am frustrated that I cannot play rough with her, but she makes it up to me by talking dirty to me, the harsh words so deliciously incongruous with the sweet, ladylike lips they are spilling from. She keeps her voice low so that only I can hear them, pressing her mouth hotly against my ear as she describes in relentless detail all the marvelously depraved things she wishes I could do to her. I find myself endlessly amused and voraciously aroused by the intensity of her requests. Under the blanket, I let my hands and fingers and cock fill as many of her requests as they can, and file the rest away for a time when we are not observed by entities with the power to separate us forever. We behave, and though I find all manner of sex enjoyable, I know I will not be satisfied by this tame rendition of our lust.

Until finally she whispers, _"Hurt me."_

I feel the wickedness in my soul raring its uncontrollable head.

She has hit my soft spot - she knows I cannot deny her this one request, and the simple challenge of doing it without getting caught just makes it all the more enticing. I duck my head under the blanket and lick my way down her body till I reach the heated place between her legs where my cock so enjoys playing. As my mouth clamps onto her swollen clit and begins sucking voraciously, I find her hips with my hands and squeeze hard, just above the bone. I know she is bruised there, fresh bruises that are quick to the touch. She gasps, her body jerking suddenly in pain, and I dig my thumbs into the damaged flesh to keep her agony alive. My mouth on her clit balances the discomfort with pleasure, a glorious mixture that brings her to the brink of climax again. I let her come, mercilessly grinding her bruises while my tongue works the little bundle of nerves at the top of her gushing slit, wondering absently as I suck at her whether or not she'll be able to control her screams when I do this again.

For I do intend, very much so, to do this again.

But first it is her turn to return the favor, and return it she does. A particularly nasty injury across my shoulder from front to back is taking on a decidedly colorful hue, the flesh through the center of the bruise torn but not deeply, raw and painful. She slowly, sensually, slides her finger up my stomach and ribs, over my nipple where she stops to tease me for a brief moment, then on toward my shoulder where the damage throbs in a dull ache that, perversely, excites me. When she reaches it, she slowly but deliberately digs her finger into the cut, forcing me to exhale in a sharp hiss of pain that nearly blinds me. My cock jumps to attention and I grab her arms, squeezing where I know they hurt the worst, and drive myself into her with a barely contained hunger.

Her cunt is already throbbing, sitting so close to the edge of release that just the act of pushing my cock into her sends her over it again.  I follow quickly with my own orgasm, biting back my screams of blind pleasure by sinking my teeth into the soft flesh above her left breast.  A trickle of bright red blood slowly trails to the center of her chest, sliding down her sternum where it pools enticingly in the little hollow between her ribs.  I dip my head to slurp it from her.  

We have succeeded in hurting one another, taking our perverted satisfaction, without any alarms going off.  No blast doors have slammed shut, no commando platoons have trained red scope lasers on our foreheads.  

In her face I see a bewitching amalgamation of despair and delight, as if she does not know why her life has taken this dark turn, but she has come to terms with the realization that she likes it.

And I am left with the realization that I like her.

 

 


End file.
